THE DAY AFTER NIGHT AFTER THE 26 FELL

i never was a poet
to begin with (so long ago)

i sighed "oh baby"
as i slipped into bed
but on with the light
so's to clear my head.

where to begin?
last night?

i lay there
cursing myself
for getting
all jacked up
in a jam again.
for feeling too much
and saying too little.
you thought and spoke,
you slept, i thought
but kept it to myself.
why ask questions with stinging answers?

but i couldn't find peace
and couldn't fool myself no more
and what the fuck was i there for
in the first place and
in the second place
who was i kidding?
so i upped and up and left.
but your hand felt so good on me,
on my knee, i wanted
to forget it all and just
hold you so fucking tight.
but i left and left foot right foot
through grey banks and icy puddles
jumped it to atlantic for a blue car.
home again, and still no sleep would come.

why?

cuz as you'd been playing tricks on me
i'd been playing tricks on my
self, the same tricks
you shone a light through last time,
the same wanting, feeling, chasing.
but now it was so ever fucking clear.
no fog, smoke, mirrors, mist.

you and i together
but separate.
both there but
for different reasons.
i (was) there for love,
you for some com-pany.
and you again explaining the trick,
the fooling of myself by my self,
the 15 hour days together bound
to do something,
to spawn illusions of desire.
can you still claim this?
or have you moved on to other excuses?
you with your excuses.
your fear, your false sense of
security blankets.
your clearly thought out,
wholly rational spotlight
sending a swath of shit through my haze,
shattering my reason to spend the daze.

and all the while me not believing
a word that you say, not wanting
to believe, believing other lies
that will leave me bereft in grief.
me wishing, fucking praying
that it's not that way,
that you'll change your mind
come april or may,
that you'd finally get a clue
and stop pushing me away,
realizing that it could be so
fucking good this way, or
that your notion of a boyfriend
would discover he's gay.

ha!

because i didn't couldn't
wouldn't let myself
get tired of you -
of seeing you, of talking to you,
always wanting more and more and more,
thinking of you always.
even now i think of you almost always.
you were with me at the start and end of each day,
as i clutched tight to my pillow, dreaming,
make-believing my loneliness away,
fantastically slipping into a state
where we played in the same league
and you were always but an arm's reach away.

i dreamt of a world where you'd kiss me
and tell me you'd missed me
more than you dissed me
for pissing you off.

i should start all over
but i'm already off to some start,
so from pro-em to prose.


WHEN THE SUN IS SHINING
and i can step back and see clearly
i can see that it's all groovy, or
gravy, as some might say, that
i enjoy kicking it with you any which
way.
and for grace and patience and perspective
i pray.
and sometimes i can see it in your eyes,
that you love me
more than you know
or more than you
can say.
even though you never could write me a love letter.

so i step back and rack
focus
to the billion and one other things to set sights on.

because i can understand detachment
or, at the least, the concept.
and i know in my heart, if not in my mind,
that everything that is meant to be will be,
that that meant to pass will come to pass,
that fate will manifest in different shapes
than those for which i ask.
that love is boundless, like future and past,
that my love for you is bigger than that
and that if
i really try harder i can complete my task,
if i can swallow my pride and das-
tardly, bastardly ways.

BUT

i cannot be a dirty little secret -
that forsakes my soul as much
as it stings my heart
and socks it to my spirit,
shattering all sense of self worth.

and where would that lead?
to a sudden cliff's drop -
where once again i am the only one
falling
but this time it's a falling out
of the love i alone fell into.